


This is Where I Leave You

by Kellyscams



Series: Whumptober [3]
Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Injury, Enemies to Friends, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Soulmates, Violence, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:02:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26887807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kellyscams/pseuds/Kellyscams
Summary: Hydra has been attacking for nearly a decade and they've finally reached Steve's village. As he fights back, he's almost killed by one of Hydra's soldiers. But something makes them stop fighting...
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Whumptober [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954231
Comments: 18
Kudos: 132
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	This is Where I Leave You

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: **No 7. I’VE GOT YOU**  
>  Support | Carrying | Enemy to Caretaker

The Hydras have been raiding for a little over a decade already, but they haven’t gone so far inland to reach Steve’s village. It was only a matter of time. The village has prepared as best it can -- weapons and training and stocking supplies -- but it’s done no good. 

They came. 

Tonight.

They came in their longships with their axes and spears and shields. With their armor and their torches. They attacked. The monastery went first. Up in flames in the middle of the night, lighting the sky blood red. Dwellings were next. Thatched roofs singed and homes lost in a blink of an eye as the attacking clan advanced. 

There were screams and tears. Men, women, and children being dragged off kicking and crying. Shoppes pillaged as the ground was soaked in blood. It was absolute pandemonium.

Villagers fled the violence, others tried to fight back -- and Steve was one of them. He’d never been trained in such skills, but that wasn’t going to stop him from protecting his village. Protecting his home and family. 

Steve didn’t have a weapon, but he found a discarded shield. Round, wooden, and heavy. He picked it up. Used it to fight. Used it to defend. There wasn’t any grace to his heavy movements. The shield was heavy and thick in his clumsy hands, but he held onto it. 

Even with sweat dripping down his face. Dirt caked all over his skin. Blood in his hair. His lungs burned and his muscles ached, but Steve refused to give up. He wouldn’t be moved. And if he fell, he got back up. 

Every time. 

Until he takes the one hit that throws him to the ground so hard it knocks the air right out of his chest. The sword comes down swift and true. A hit that will kill upon impact. 

Steve throws the shield up just in time to save his life, but the sword cracks right through it. It splits in two. His only means of protection, gone. And the soldier above him raises the sword over his head again. 

Only he never brings it down. The soldier -- covered in just as much sweat, dirt, and blood as Steve -- freezes. 

His arms tremble and his chest rises and falls hard and heavy, but he never lets that sword fall again. Instead, he lowers one arm and removes his helmet and just…stares at Steve with eyes as bright as the steel of his once cleaned blade. 

He stares at Steve as if they’ve known each other for years. For lifetimes. Steve knows this because it’s the same way he stares back at him. 

As if the whole world has held its breath as two souls meet and connect, everything stopping around them both. 

All Steve does now is stare back at him. At the man here pillaging and plundering his village, trying to kill him, and all Steve could do was stare. Time stands still. 

Until it suddenly catches up to them again when a dagger plunges into the soldier’s side. 

Those vivacious, piercing eyes go wide with pain. He clutches at his side, his fingers covered in blood, and crumples into the dirt. 

Steve gasps as the weight of the soldier’s body crushes his legs when he lands on him. He can still smell the scent of death all around him and the fear that saturates the air as the Hydra clan continues their raid on the village. For some reason, Steve doesn’t get back up this time. At least, not right away.

Instead, he pushes the soldier’s dirty hair away from his face and looks at the pain in his eyes as he clings for life. As his breaths shudder and his body trembles and he gasps for air. His jaw is clenched tight as he attempts to hold in sounds of pained anguish.

Without thinking, Steve slips his hand over the soldier’s, even with it covered in the blood of Steve’s brethren, and allows him to take a tight, firm grip until his breath sputters, he coughs up more blood, and then goes limp, practically in Steve’s arms. 

Steve can’t understand why his heart twists with an inexplicable loss and a sudden rush of tears stings his eyes. It makes no sense. This man came into his home. Burned it. Killed. And yet Steve feels as though he’s mourning the tragic loss of someone who stole his heart. 

Steve ignores his trembling lip as he pushes the body off him so he can continue fighting the Hydras out of his village. 

***

They’ve been burning bodies all morning. The battle had taken a turn just before dawn. Either the Hydras had thought the village not worth the effort or they’d gotten enough bloodshed from them, but they left their dead, dragged their injured, and made for their ships to leave. 

Without having even stopped to rest or to clean himself up, Steve has been tending to the villagers who needed care. Though his mother never properly trained him in means of healing, Steve had stood by her side to assist her enough that villagers came to him for help quite often after his mother’s passing. He’s gone from home to home, shouting inside to find anyone who needed help. Steve’s patched and mended and stitched, and did the horrible job of pronouncing villagers he’s known for years -- friends and loved ones -- dead. 

It’s well past midday when someone tells him to get some rest. Steve tries to argue, says he’s okay and can still help. It’s no use though, and he’s sent off to find a place to sleep. Behind the stables, he figures is the best place for now. Just an hour or so and Steve can get up and help again. 

What he doesn’t expect, what Steve never thought would happen again, is for life to come to a complete halt when he locks eyes with the very same soldier as the night before. Steve freezes. The soldier is in a pile of bodies. Skin ashen and body trembling from head to toe. Alive, barely, as he gasps for breath. Steve can’t even begin to describe or even understand the joy and bliss that fill him upon this discovery. 

Just like last night, they stare at each other. Sworn enemies. Today, there is no fight. Neither one is attacking the other, though it would make great sense for Steve to go over there right now and finish the job. He felt no great loss for any of the other Hydras. He couldn’t say the same for this one.

All Steve can feel now was joy. Bone-sinking joy that wraps around him at seeing this soldier still alive, those steel-blue eyes staring out at him. Steve wants to smile when the tears come, but, somehow, he keeps it back. 

Steve, first looking around to make sure he’s really alone, has no idea what compels him to go over to the soldier who’d tried to kill him last night, but he does. He goes over, sees the fear in his eyes, and scoops him into his arms. A harsh and heavy yell is pulled from the soldier’s lungs, the pain from his injury probably excruciating, but Steve only shushes him as he hurries to hide him in the stables. Why, he still doesn’t know. 

The second Steve drops him in a pile of hay, the soldier unsheathes a dagger and takes a swipe at Steve. It’s a weak and feeble attempt at an attack, and as soon as Steve takes hold of the soldier’s wrist, the dagger falls from his grip. Steve kicks the weapon from his reach before pinning him down into the hay.

An anguished hiss rushes from between the soldier’s teeth, his eyes and jaw clenched tight. He’s cold to the touch, his body dripping with perspiration. When he opens his eyes to glare at Steve, his gaze holds a bit of wonderment. He, like Steve, appears unable to hold back the undeniable awe that the world has stopped while a pair of hearts fall in perfect sync.

Still, when Steve once again attempts an approach, the soldier growls and throws up a defensive fist. 

“Oh, stop it,” Steve growls with no idea whether or not his language is understood. “Would you rather me leave you to die?”

There’s a trough of water on the other end of the stable. Steve goes to it and scoops out some to bring back to the soldier. Who glares at the ladle like Steve’s about to poison him. 

“You must be thirsty,” Steve says. “Have some.” 

This should be expected, though. They’re enemies. Even if the idea of anything happening to him leaves Steve with a horrible ache in his belly. So Steve tries to show him it’s safe by taking a sip himself. 

When he does this, the soldier’s eyes drop to the ladle and lose some of that hardness. Replacing it, is a sure sign of desperation. He needs the help no matter how hard he wants to deny it. Steve crouches and holds the ladle to his lips. With whatever strength he has, the soldier grabs onto it and gulps it down. Water leaks out of the corners of his mouth. 

“I’ll get you some more,” Steve tells him, still having no idea if he’s understood or not. “And I’ll try to find you some bread.” He grabs a handful of spider silk from the underside of the trough and attempts to cover the man’s injury. “Just let me look at your wound first.”

But the second he reaches for it, the soldier jerks away. 

Steve scoffs as he stands and brushes dirt and hay from off his trousers, tossing the balled up spiderweb to him. 

“Fine. Stay in pain. See if I care.”

Thing is, he does care. Steve doesn’t know why, but he does. Which is why he leaves the stables in search of both bread and supplies for the soldier’s injury. 

Back in his home, which did not escape the night without damage, Steve gathered up some medicinal herbs to treat the injured man he left in the stables. Some honey to help the healing process and kill off bacteria. Mashed up goldenseal to prevent infection. Feverfew to keep his temperature down. Ginger to help with the bleeding. A few others that Steve mixes together to make a thick paste. 

Whether or not he’ll be permitted to apply it is an entirely different subject altogether. 

Before heading back to the stables, Steve grabs some blankets and a loaf of bread. They’re making porridge at the village center. No one questions him when he asks for two bowls. 

When Steve returns to the stable, he finds the man has crawled away from the spot Steve left him. Still trying to escape. 

“No, don’t…” Steve hurries to put down everything he brought back with him. “Stop.”

He rushes over to stop him. Stop him because if he keeps going like that, he’s going to die, and for some reason, the thought of him dying leaves Steve cold and empty inside. 

Steve touches his shoulder to stop him from going any farther. Of course, this only sees the soldier crying out in pain and once again trying to fight Steve away from him. 

"Please, stop," Steve says and gestures back to the food he's brought. "I'm not going to hurt you."

If he was, he'd have done so already. After all, he's had ample time and plenty of opportunity. But when the man looks behind Steve, he clenches at his wound and, eyes squeezed shut, nods. Steve takes that to mean he wants to accept the help.

First thing Steve does is bring him back to the pile of hay. The man grunts and hisses when Steve lifts him back to his feet, but has no choice but to let Steve support his full weight. Steve half calf carries, half drags him, and then gently lays him down.

Since he’s shivering, hard and teeth-chattering, Steve covers him with the blanket, leaving only his wound exposed so he can tend to it. The second the soldier has it, he pulls it up to his chin, likely trying to warm himself. No doubt a fever as already set in. 

“Th-th-thank y-you.” 

Head snapping up, Steve looks around before realizing who said that. Not only did he not expect this man to say a word to him, he never expected the words to come out in his own language.

“Can you…you can understand me?”

His eyelids flutter bit and he shivers violently again before responding with a weak nod and pulling the blanket tighter. 

“Y-yes,” he whispers. 

“Oh. Well.” Steve scoops up some of the paste he made and gently applies it to the wound. No matter how gentle he tries to be, it’s not enough to keep the hiss. The soldier’s cheeks drain of whatever color might have remained. “Sorry. My name is Steve by the way.” 

“B-Buchanan,” he mutters. “My…my m-ma-mama used t-to call me…Bucky.” 

“Bucky,” Steve murmurs. “Try not to move much. This is set for now, but any rough movements might make it reopen. You’re probably already fighting an infection.”

Despite the shivering, he’s dripping in perspiration. His hairline is damp and he’s unable to keep his head lifted, so Steve folds up another blanket to put behind it. Now that he’s finished with Bucky’s injury, Steve covers him completely with the blanket and grabs one of the bowls of porridge. He doesn’t bother trying to hand it to Bucky. There’s no way he could feed himself.

Bucky looks a mix of emotions about having to be fed by Steve. Anger. Disgust. Fear. There’s even shame in there. But none of them outweigh the desire to survive so, chin trembling, he opens his mouth. 

“Wh-why?” Bucky asks after he’s eaten the two bowls and half the bread. “Why are y-you…helping me? Why n-not just…let me die?”

“I don’t know,” Steve answers. “Why didn’t you kill me last night?” 

“I n-n-never wanted to k-kill anyone,” he says. “Hydra…they came into m-my home, too. Took me and others…and they made us fight.”

That sounds an awful lot like something Hydra would do. The rumors suggest that they only reason they leave any villages without completely destroying them is to use them as leverage.

 _Fight for us or we’ll kill the rest of them_. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. “When you’re strong enough, I’ll move you into my house. But I’ll stay with you tonight.” 

“I don’t…” Bucky winces when he attempts to readjust his position. Steve helps him so it doesn’t hurt as much. “Why? Why are you helping me?”

“If what you say is true,” Steve says as he scoops some water out into a bucket, “then you’re as much a victim as my village. And we have a common enemy. You need to get strong again if you’re going to be any good to us.” 

“I suppose you intend on using me to fight as well then.” 

While Steve can understand why Bucky might think that, it’s not exactly what he had in mind. No one should ever be forced to fight. But Bucky doesn’t have to fight to be helpful. 

“No. Of course not.” Steve helps Bucky drink some more water. “You said you didn’t want to kill anyone. But maybe you’d want to help us fix things around here. If you’d like to stay, that is.” 

For a few minutes, Bucky doesn’t say anything. With his eyes closed like that, Steve wonders if he’s fallen asleep. He definitely needs the rest. 

“My family,” he says, eyes still shut, “were goat farmers. I don’t suppose you have any herds of goats?”

Steve grins. “We do. On the outskirts of the village. I’m sure they’d welcome you.” 

“I could earn my keep,” Bucky whispers. “Pay penance for my sins.” 

“What you did…what they _made_ you do…” Steve shakes his head. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know.” Bucky nibbles his lip and opens his eyes. “But I did it.” 

Steve places a tender hand over Bucky’s knee. Wants to promise him that everything will be okay, but isn’t sure how to do that. Bucky’s alive, but alive with a lot of guilt. 

Then there’s that other thing.

That moment that passed between them. The way the world stopped and vanished and became a moment all of their own. Even now, Steve can feel it. 

And he’s sure Bucky can, too. 

“Get some rest, Bucky,” Steve murmurs. “I’ll be here when you wake.” 

Bucky watches him for a moment with nothing but gratitude and trust in his eyes, and then rests his head back. He’s asleep before Steve even has a chance to whisper anything else.


End file.
